


Apollo Gangnam Style

by yallaintright



Series: Apollo Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Flashmobs, I APOLOGIZE, M/M, a wild neville longbottom appears, and as usual, enjolras regrets believing in democracy, not quite crack, not quite fluff, something in between, the giant squid is lonely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 15:33:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/800298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yallaintright/pseuds/yallaintright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh.” Grantaire says, dumbfounded. His eyes widen almost comically. “But I thought this was a Noble Quest. To <em>woo</em> you.”</p><p>“To <em>woo</em> me?” Enjolras repeats, “Grantaire, do I look like the swooning heroine of a 19th century novel to you?”</p><p>“I want to say yes, but I’m afraid you won’t kiss me again.” And at least he has good instincts, Enjolras will give him that.</p><p> </p><p>Another Hogwarts AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apollo Gangnam Style

**Author's Note:**

> I'M SORRY FOR REPOSTING THIS - yesterday I was on my phone when I noticed a typo. I corrected it and AO3 somehow deleted half the fic. When I tried to fix it, I accidently deleted the entire thing. I'm awful at techology, it's my cross to bear in life, and I apologize. 
> 
> The rain was making Marie feel sad yesterday. I offered to do an anti-rain dance for her, but then I realized we were on different continents and that wouldn’t work at all. This fic happened instead.

There comes a time in every young wizard’s life when he must accept that he is in love with the castle idiot. As Enjolras stands rooted to the spot in the middle of Hogsmeade, staring in horror as Grantaire leads what is possibly every single student at Hogwarts in what can only be described as an epileptic horse-riding dance, he thinks he may have just reached that time.

Enjolras takes a very deep breath - yelling at Grantaire has  _never_  gotten him any answers - and asks, in what he hopes is a calm and controlled tone of voice, “What are you  _doing_?”

“You wanted snow, I’m giving you snow.” Grantaire says, looking over his shoulder with a glare that would’ve been more impressive if he wasn’t pretending to spin an invisible lasso.

“How does leading an epileptic flash mob help with that?” Enjolras asks, feeling very confused and moving closer to the crowd.

“An epileptic - how can you - ugh, Apollo,  _you idiot_ , go the fuck away.” Grantaire sputters, finally turning around to face Enjolras and trying to shoo him away.

“We’re doing a snow dance!” Courfeyrac yells out from the crowd, in that delighted tone of his that  _never_  bodes well for anyone and  _always_ makes Enjolras want to dock 100 points from Slytherin.

“You’re doing a  _snow dance_.” Enjolras thinks it needs to be repeated.

“Yes.” Grantaire says primly, as Courfeyrac moves to the front of the crowd to lead it in a horse trot.  

There are many things Enjolras wants to ask - starting with  _in what universe_  can channeling a group of drunken horses on steroids possibly be described as a snow dance - but he settles for the one that will hopefully get him an explanation quicker. Still, he has to count to ten before opening his mouth. Twice. “ _Why_  are you doing a snow dance?”

“Do you not remember the conversation we had?” Grantaire’s eyes go impossibly wide, “Oh my god, please tell you haven’t been hit with an Obliviate curse again.”

“That happened once and it was an  _accident_.” Bossuet’s very indignant shout comes from somewhere in the crowd.

Enjolras chooses to ignore him for now. He will deal with everyone in the crowd later. Lately, it’s been getting harder and harder to glare at Grantaire like he means it, but he makes himself do it. “I remember our conversation. I just don’t see how you go from  _that_  to  _this_.” He waves his hands at the crowd, in what he hopes is an all-encompassing gesture.

“Apollo,” Grantaire whines, looking at Enjolras as if he’s the one acting like he’s been hit with a Confundus Curse. “I asked you out on a date. _Again_. You said no.  _Again_. When I asked you what the fuck I had to do to get you to go to the Yule Ball with me, you said ‘make it snow’. I am now doing a snow dance. To make it snow. Like you requested. Now fuck off, I need to concentrate and you’re  _very_  distracting.”

“And it never occurred to you that that was a  _joke_?” He snaps and it’s only after the words have left his mouth and the crowd has frozen mid-trot that he realizes just how that sounded.

“A  _joke_.” Grantaire repeats and  _fuck_ , he looks so much like a kicked puppy that Enjolras hates himself. By the way everyone in the crowd starts muttering to each other, Enjolras is quite certain that they’re about to turn into an angry mob. He had always thought he’d be the one to  _lead_  an angry mob, not the one an angry mob is lead  _against_. Grantaire turns back to face the crowd. “Right, guys - thank you very much for your help, but as you can see there’s really no point to it, so if could all just go back to your common rooms that’d be much - “

“Fuck, Grantaire, that isn’t what I meant. I meant - “ he tries to explain himself but Grantaire cuts him off, still facing the crowd.

“No problem, Apollo. I’m a big boy, I know how to handle rejection, you don’t have to - “

“For fuck’s sake, will you  _shut up?_ ”

“It’s fine, Enjolras, really - “

Enjolras does the only sensible thing he can think of. He grabs Grantaire’s arm and makes him turn around, before pulling him closer and wrapping his arms around the idiot’s waist. .

“What do you  _think_  you’re doing, Apollo?” Grantaire hisses (but still rests his arms against Enjolras’ chest rather than push him away, and the blonde most definitely counts that as a victory). His eyes are impossibly blue this close. How has Enjolras not noticed just how blue his eyes are?

“Right now, I’m holding you. And in about five seconds, I’m going to kiss you.”  Enjolras informs him, rubbing his nose against Grantaire’s jaw.

“In about five seconds - Apollo, are you - mugh - “

Enjolras kisses him. It’s soft and tentative, just a gentle press of lips at first - he’s still not one hundred percent sure that this isn’t just another practical joke from Grantaire and that he hasn’t misread everything - but then Grantaire wraps his arms around Enjolras’ neck and pulls him closer, kissing him back and parting his lips against Enjolras’ and he’s certain that, for once, Grantaire is actually being serious.

It’s only after the crowd has started cheering (and Courfeyrac’s shouted suggestions have reached truly indecent levels) that Enjolras makes himself pull away, nuzzling their noses together.

“That was a kiss.” Grantaire states the obvious with a dazed look on his face, looking suddenly very young and very vulnerable.

“Well, it’s good to know that your observation skills are as good as ever.” Enjolras says, around a snort, and Grantaire nibbles his lower lip with a little more force than Enjolras feels is strictly necessary.

“We should talk.  _Privately_.” Enjolras murmurs against Grantaire’s lips.

“Oh,  _hell no_.” Éponine snaps, shoving her way to the front of the crowd and  _how_  did she even hear that? “You’re doing it right here. You’ve already messed up once today. we’re not letting you both out of our sight until we’re sure you won’t mess it up again.” There’s a chorus of agreement from the crowd and Enjolras wants to dump them all into the Hogwarts Lake - strictly out of the kindness of his heart, the Giant Squid has been looking particularly lonely lately. “Come on, boys.  _Talk_.”

“The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can be alone.” Grantaire whispers in Enjolras’ ear, stepping out of his arms. Enjolras barely has time to make a noise of protest before Grantaire’s left hand closes around Enjolras’ right - and he can’t really protest  _that_  so he turns them both to face the crowd.

He takes a deep, calming breath and resignedly asks them, “How much do you know?”

“We know he asked you to go to the Yule Ball with him. Again. And you turned him down. Again.” Éponine sends him a dirty look. “And then you said you’d go with him if he made it snow, so he asked for Courfeyrac’s help in a snow dance, and Courf asked me, and I asked Marius and Combeferre and it sort of escalated from there.”

“It sort of escalated from there.” Enjolras repeats, thinking just how strange his life is. “You brought  _the entire student body_  to Hogsmeade to perform a snow dance and you say it  _sort of_  escalated from there?” He notices a small red-haired girl in the crowd that can’t anything other than a first year. “Wait, did you bring first-years as well? Have you lost  _all_  your fucking brains? You’re supposed to be  _Head Girl_.”

“They didn’t just bring the entire student body to Hogsmeade, my boy.” An amused voice says from somewhere in the crowd and  _fuck_ , that’s Professor Longbottom, and how the fuck is this Enjolras’ life? “They also brought me.”

“Professor Longbottom?” He can’t quite keep the horror out of his voice.

“No need to worry, Enjolras, dear.” Professor Longbottom says in a soothing tone of voice. “There is no Hogwarts rule against performing weather dances. The only problem is that my mandrakes are still afraid of the dark and your friends were blocking the sunlight, so I had to bring them here.”

And there’s really no way Enjolras can deal with that right now. He turns to snarl at Grantaire instead, because at least that’s something that he’s familiar with.

“You were doing a snow dance. To make it  _snow_.”

“Yes. What else was I supposed to do?”

“What were you supposed to - “ Enjolras has to pause in order not to strangle him.  “You  _are_  a pureblood wizard, are you not?”

“Yes, but - “

“You  _are_  a seventeen years-old pureblood wizard, are you not?”

“Yes, but - “

“You  _have_ , therefore, been around magic all your life, have you not?”

“Yes, but - “ He cuts himself off this time and waggles a threatening finger at Enjolras, “Wait, don’t you  _dare_  cut me off again. I have been asking you to go out with me since first year. You always say no and walk away. After seven years, you finally,  _finally_ , give me an opening. You wanted snow, I was going to get you snow. I went to Professor McGonagall and asked for special permission to Apparate to Antarctica to get you your fucking snow because I figured that was the easiest way to do it but then she asked me if I’d been possessed by James Potter, kicked me out of her office and spent the next 15 minutes laughing herself silly.“ He shakes his head to clear his thoughts. “Anyway, I knew from Muggle Studies that ancient Muggle tribes used to perform rain dances, and Courfeyrac’s dad is a Muggle so I asked Courf to show me the dance of his people - “

“Courfeyrac is a straight white boy from West London, he doesn’t even have a people - “

“Did I say you could interrupt me? No, I did not. So shut up. Like I was saying, Courfeyrac taught me the snow dance of his people and, like Ép said, it escalated from there and here we are. Stop looking at me like I’m crazy, what else was I supposed to do?”

And yes, it’s official, Enjolras is in love with the most idiotic person to ever set foot in Hogwarts grounds. He yearns for the time when he used to have standards.

“What else were you supposed to do?” He snaps, “Grantaire, did it never occur to you to use a  _simple_  Weather-Modifying Charm?”

“Oh.” Grantaire says, dumbfounded. His eyes widen almost comically. “But I thought this was a Noble Quest. To  _woo_  you.”

“To  _woo_  me?” Enjolras repeats, “Grantaire, do I look like the swooning heroine of a 19th century novel to you?”

“I want to say yes, but I’m afraid you won’t kiss me again.” And at least he has good instincts, Enjolras will give him that.

“You are  _such_  an idiot.” And Enjolras tries  _very_  hard to sound strict, but knows he can’t quite keep the fondness out of his voice.

“Wait just a second -” Grantaire narrows his eyes at him. “But then if this  _wasn’t_  a Noble Quest for your hand.. eh - what  _was_  this supposed to be?”

Enjolras bites his lip, pondering his next words very carefully. “You always asked me out. But you always made a joke out of it.”

“It’s easier to handle public rejection if you can turn it into a joke, Enjolras.” Grantaire says softly, looking Enjolras straight in the eye and Enjolras gives the hand he still hasn’t let go of a gentle squeeze.

“And lately I’ve been wanting to say yes,” Enjolras says in the same tone of voice, “but I thought you hated me.”

Grantaire stares at him like he’s just told him he’s leaving Hogwarts to become Draco Malfoy’s personal shopper. “In the holy name of Merlin’s left tit,  _why_  would you think I hate you?”

“Because you disagree with me about every single fucking thing?” Enjolras can’t help but roll his eyes.

“I don’t disagree with you about every single fucking thing because  _I hate you_ , you idiot. I disagree with you about every single fucking thing because  _you’re wrong about every single thing_.” And really, Enjolras is quite certain you’re not supposed to want to strangle someone you’re in love with.

“I’m not wrong about  _anything_.”

Grantaire snorts. “I’m sorry, have you heard yourself going on about  _spew_?”

“It’s not  _spew_ , it’s S.P.E.W., the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare and it was started by Hermione Granger, one of the brightest witches who ever set foot in Hogwarts and - “

“Children.” Combeferre chides and Enjolras tears his eyes away from Grantaire to glance back at the crowd, where all their friends have apparently pushed their way to the first row. The only time he’s seen Courfeyrac this happy, he’d just found The Marauder’s Map.

“We can argue later.” Grantaire says beside him, looking hopeful. It’s a good look on him. “But - Does this mean you wanted to go to the Ball with me?”

“Sometimes I thought you might mean it. But I just couldn’t tell if you did or not. So what  _I_  was going to do was to ask  _you_  to go with me. Worst case scenario, you’d say no and at least I’d know. But if I was going to do it, then I was going to do it  _properly_. There was going to be  _snow_. You are like a little kid when there’s snow, you know you are. And it was going to be  _very_  romantic. When I told you to make it snow, that was still what I had in mind. But then, of course, you promptly ran out of the room and ruined all my plans and  _why_  won’t you let yourself have nice things? We are going to have to talk about this, aren’t we?”

Grantaire ignores Enjolras’ question. “I didn’t have to do a snow dance at all?” He asks in a whisper.

“You didn’t have to do a snow dance at all.” Enjolras assures. And then it hits him that not only did  _Grantaire_  do a snow dance, he got almost  _all_  of Hogwarts to help him. Practically every single person with a drop of magic blood from the ages of eleven to eighteen in Britain helped him. Sometimes, he really,  _really_  worries about the state of the wizard education system.

Enjolras turns back to the crowd. “Of every single person here, there wasn’t one among you who remembered what a Weather Modifying spell  _is_?”

“Of course there was.” Courfeyrac smirks and Enjolras makes a mental note to talk to Professor McGonagall about making that smirk a punishable offense in Hogwarts. “We aren’t  _all_  idiots. But we thought it was romantic. We were going to do the snow dance for Grantaire’s sake. And then, at night, we were going to make you two meet on top of the Astronomy Tower, while we hid on the Grounds and performed the damn spell to make it snow on top of the Tower. It was also going to be  _very_  romantic. Why won’t you let yourself have nice things as well?” Courfeyrac whines.

“It’s not even a real snow dance, you know.” Cosette remarks, “Well, to be fair - I don’t think there is such a thing as a  _snow dance_. It’s just a dance Muggles spent most of the summer doing. My dad told me all about it. I think it’s called Apollo Gangnam Style. We thought it was appropriate.”

“We figured it was the intention that counted.” Courfeyrac adds. “Every time I did this dance this summer, I did it with the intention of getting laid. And it worked. Most of the time, anyway. So maybe it  _is_ a magic dance.”

“I also knew about the actual spell,” Jehan says dreamily “I just helped with the dance because I thought it was very romantic. And also because I thought it might be a good way to attract Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. My godmother told me all about them, you know.”

“You are never, ever, reading the Quibbler again.” Bahorel tells him.

“Shut up, Bahorel, you’re not my real mom.” Jehan snaps at him.

“Oh god.” Enjolras hides his face in his unoccupied hand. It’s scary, how often he finds himself thinking he is surrounded by idiots.

“Right.” Grantaire addresses the crowd. “You lot, thank you so much for your help, but everything has been taken care of now and I think it has been established that we are going to the Ball together, so if you could just - “

“Oh,  _hell no_.” Éponine starts again and oh god, what now? “Not so fast, lover boys. Doesn’t the opinion of the crowd matter?”

“The opinion of the crowd?” Enjolras repeats slowly.

“Yes. We have to put it to popular vote!” She sounds delighted about it and Enjolras thinks she may have been spending too much  time with Courfeyrac.

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea - “

“That’s too bad.”

“Why should I let the crowd take votes on my love life? And Grantaire’s?”

“Because, darling Head Boy, you believe in democracy.” She gives him a wicked grin that even Courfeyrac could never hope to match.

“That’s completely preposterous, the majority cannot vote on the rights of the minority - “

“You are  _really_  not endearing yourself to the voters here, Apollo.” Grantaire murmurs in his ear and, really, is he  _seriously_  going to encourage this?

Éponine gives him a victorious smile before turning back to the crowd. “Alright, you lot. Those who think Grantaire should go with Enjolras to the Yule Ball raise your hands.”

And Enjolras shouldn’t care, he really shouldn’t, but he can’t help but feel a weight settle in his stomach, as only about half the crowd raises their hands.

Courfeyrac clears his throat meaningfully. “Er.. Enjolras, I don’t suppose you could cover your ears for what I’m about to say?” He asks hopefully, but the way Enjolras glares at him is all the answer he needs. “Right. Should’ve known. Please remember that you like me. Sometimes. And if you kill me you’ll get blood on your robes. And you know you always sulk when you get your robes dirty.”

“I’ll sulk for a while, you’ll be dead a lot longer.” Enjolras points out, because whatever it is that is making Courfeyrac beg for his life is something that he knows he will  _not_  be pleased about. “Just get it over with.”

“You’re the boss, boss. Alright.” He faces the crowd. “Guys, please raise your hands if the only reason you didn’t do it before was because, in the monthly betting pool, you placed good money on Enjolras and Grantaire only getting together  _after_  the Yule Ball.”

And every single previously non-raised hand in the crowd goes up.  _Including Professor Longbottom’s._

“You placed bets on my love life?” Grantaire asks, horrified, and Enjolras didn’t even know his voice could go that high.

“Every month since third year. It started when - “ Marius’ voice is suddenly cut off as Cosette purposely steps on his foot.

Enjolras wants to explode, he really, really does, but Grantaire’s hand in his is making it extremely hard to muster all the anger necessary.

He gives it up as a lost cause when Grantaire leans closer to nuzzle his jaw and ask, in his best impression of a stage whisper, “Can we kill them?”

“We can.” Enjolras says, a little too quickly, and Grantaire laughs, wrapping his arms around Enjolras’ neck again and pulling his head down for another kiss.

Seconds later, when Courfeyrac raises his wand, whispering “meteolojinx nix” and snowflakes start to fall all around them, Enjolras resignedly decides to let him live.

And when the falling snowflakes start to spell out ‘get a room’ on the ground, Enjolras can’t even fully begrudge Courfeyrac for his pitiful sense of humour - it is, after all,  _really_  good advice.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Tumblr is pullthedevildown and I always love prompts! Feel free to come say hi! :)


End file.
